Those Eyes
by SomethingFeral
Summary: What happens when a matter of assault escalates into something far worse? And what of the certain...reprocussions circumstance brings? YxV MM
1. Forced Entry

(A/N: So after a long hiatus, I guess I'm digging this story up out of the archives of my computer. Yes, I AM the original author of this. Now that there is a Mature section here at once more, I am able to post this here. FEAR ME AND MY CRACK PAIRINGS. I think YxV is a cute pairing, dammit. A little unlikely, but cute. Sort of. I like random and unlikely, as long as it's well written and somehow manages to make the pairing seem somewhat plausible. Of course, I'm also one for slight 'suspension of belief' (duh, I'm writing a mpreg fic with a veyr unlikely couple). Anyways, the point of this note is to say that yes, I am Kuro-Chan of Yes, this is mine. NO, I do NOT own the characters. Sadly. If anyone wants to do art of this, go ahead. Just credit me (mentioning my story inspired it would be fine. You can either put my name or my dA name. Which is somethingferal as well. Sense a pattern?) and let me know. Also, somments are luffed. Nothing too critical just yet...I've been planning on revamping this anyways. Wait until after I fix things to crtique my writing...my style's changed and I've learned _a lot_ more stuff. So yeah. Read on!)

Yamcha looked at Vegeta fearfully, paralyzed by the look in the Saiyajin no Oji's eyes. His whole body shook as he stood transfixed by his gaze. Those eyes, those obsidian orbs... They were frightening, but there was something else about them. Something handsomely captivating. It was probably for this reason, not the fear, that Yamcha remained standing idiotically motionless beside his bed. True, he was scared out of his mind, but deep inside there was a burning tranquility.

The Oji was sitting on the windowsill, silhouetted by the waning moon. It was a humid August night, and Yamcha knew just what Vegeta wanted. It was all routine; the Oji would pop in silently and beat poor Yamcha until he could no longer stand or move. These nighttime meetings, though they had long since become passé, never failed to scare the shit out of Yamcha. Every night, he vowed he would stand up to Vegeta. But night after night, he would lose what little amount of bravado he had collected up. When Vegeta transfixed him with those eyes, those jet-black orbs void of any emotion like two stone marbles, he lost all courage he had at that moment. But not tonight. No, tonight would be different. Tonight he was going to stand up for his rights, no matter how small and insignificant they were. He shook off the paralysis and swallowed hard, narrowing his eyes into hard slits. He put on an angry glared and puffed out his chest; though he doubted his shaking knees were helping any. He bit down on his lower lip and took a step forward.

"V-Vegeta, listen up. I...I won't be your punching bag anymore. G-go find some other way to vent your anger." he said, his voice cracking with fear.

Vegeta's lips, which until then had been tightly pursed into a thin line, drooped down into a frown as he furrowed his brow. Yamcha took a step back, bumping against the edge of his bed, fearing he had said too much. But then, Vegeta's lips curved upwards into a small grin. He swung his legs around off the windowsill and stood up, stepping close to Yamcha until they were an inch apart. He raised his right hand, taking hold of the human's chin. He tilted Yamcha's face to the right, and then to the left, only pausing to periodically run the fingers of his left hand over the scars on Yamcha's face. He re-centered Yamcha's face, piercing the quivering man with a sinister sneer. He took a large step back, pulling Yamcha with him. His eyes flashed angrily, his grip on the human's face tightening immensely. Yamcha winced, fearing that his jawbone would be crushed by the Saiyajin's powerful grip. Then Vegeta let go, a creepy sneer spreading across his features. Yamcha looked fearfully at Vegeta, afraid of what was going to happen.

"Get down." Vegeta hissed.

"W-what?" Yamcha blinked.

"Now. Get down on your hands and knees." he spat.

Yamcha slowly dropped to his hands and knees. Vegeta walked around to the back and Yamcha braced himself for the impending blow. He squeezed his eyes shut, wound his fingers into the carpet, and tensed every muscle in his body as if it would soften the kick he was going to get for mouthing off. His shaking body was already covered in numerous cuts and bruises from the previous encounters of that week. It wasn't quite a nightly basis Vegeta came; he only did so when he was seriously pissed off. Incidentally, it turned out to be more like every other few nights. But whenever Yamcha was falling into real bad shape, or if the wounds were getting far too apparent, Vegeta would ease up for a week. But when he deemed it fit to resume the first few beatings were often pretty severe, due to all the anger Vegeta hand been withholding.

But no matter how angry he Saiyajin no Oji got, he never ever hit Yamcha's face. He had once said, while stroking the human's fabled scars, that Yamcha had too nice a face to damage any further. At first, this had creeped Yamcha out for a few moments, but then Vegeta reassured him of _his_ sexuality by kneeing Yamcha painfully in the gut. So Yamcha figured that Vegeta was just saying that, that the true reason was that bruises and such on the face would be all too obvious. People got suspicious and nosy when they saw that sort of thing, and were bound to ask questions. There was a great possibility Yamcha would end up blurting something out, totally spilling the beans; and that was just what Vegeta didn't want to get out. Yamcha was very good at convincing himself of these things.

He opened his eyes slowly, a little confused as to why nothing had happened yet. If Vegeta wasn't going to kick him, then why...?

There was the rustle of fabric and then a soft whisper as a pair of pants hit the floor. Yamcha's body went rigid as he slowly put the pieces together. Vegeta placed his hands on the waistband of Yamcha's pajama bottoms, yanking them down forcefully, the bunched material nestling around the crooks of his knees. Yamcha knew he should run, or at least crawl, away. But for some reason, he found himself unable to move. It was as if his hands and knees were cast in cement. Vegeta ran his hands over Yamcha's bare ass and down his thighs. Yamcha shivered, but not out of pleasure. Vegeta ran his fingers up and down Yamcha's spine and then, without any warning, gripped his shoulders and gave his hips a powerful thrust, forcing himself into Yamcha. The scarred warrior screamed audibly as Vegeta tore into him, pain firing through his senses like a rocket. He clawed at the carpet seeking escape, but Vegeta kept him pinned. His thrusts and pumps were violent, jagged, and seriously misaimed. They scraped and tore at his inner walls, causing _excruciating_ pain. He howled and screamed, but Vegeta did nothing to correct his course. It was almost as if he were doing it on purpose.

Yamcha screamed and tore at the carpet with his nails, uprooting large chunks as Vegeta raked his nails down Yamcha's back, marring the skin something awful to match the abused floor. Blood rolled down the Z fighter's back and between his buttocks, adding to the blood already pouring out of his ass. Vegeta's breathing became erratic and he anchored his nails deep into Yamcha's back, relying more on the human to support his weight rather than his own legs. Yamcha's arms burned and ached, every fiber of his being asking for a rest. He was so sore and tired, he just couldn't take it. If he hadn't opened his mouth...if he hadn't tried to stand up to him...even a beating would be ten times better than this shit.

Yamcha groaned; Vegeta's thrusts were more powerful now, which did not bode well as they were still ill angled. Behind him, Vegeta screamed loudly and a blast of energy fired up as the Oji kicked into his super Saiyajin state. This had to be the worst torment Yamcha had ever been put through. The heat from Vegeta's aura was surprisingly intense, and burned Yamcha's back, causing him to cry out in pain. The wounds were searing and painful, despite all the lubrication the blood provided. Vegeta dug his nails in a little deeper and then pulled them out, tearing out ten good-sized chunks of flesh. He yelled, coming forcefully in, and some out, of Yamcha. Yamcha's arms gave out and he lay on the ground, crying like a child. Vegeta stood up, exhaling shakily as he walked over to his pants and pulled them up, his bright aura still illuminating the room. He pulled on his shirt and drew a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket. He dispensed one and placed it in his mouth, holding his fingers up and using the heat from a small energy ball to light up the tip. He took a deep draw and crouched down next to Yamcha, breathing a cloud of smoke into his face.

"Now, human scum, do you see the relevance of this? Of course you don't. I can see it in your eyes. You are not intelligent enough to understand. What I am trying to show you is that there are much worse things than being beaten up on occasion. At least things like that will make you stronger. This, however, will most likely turn you further into your homosexual ways." he smirked unctuously. He stroked the scar on Yamcha's cheek and then gave him a stinging slap. "Now, have you learned what speaking you mind does, especially if you _haven't_ a mind to speak?" he asked, taking another drag. Yamcha winced and nodded very slowly.

Vegeta smirked in response and ruffled his hair. "Good."

He turned to the windowsill and cast one long glance at Yamcha before jumping out into the blotted darkness of the night. Yamcha lay on the floor, not wanting to move due to the humility and pain he was in. He didn't even have the energy to crawl to the bathroom and clean up. And so he fell asleep, covered by a gruesome blanket of his blood and Vegeta's essence.

Yamcha didn't move for three full days. For one, after his 'encounter', he had blacked out for an entire day and two, he was so weighted down by his emotions that he couldn't lift a finger. He wished Pu'ar were still with him; she had left around the times the beatings started. But it wasn't like it was an inevitable thing; Yamcha could have made her stay. She had told him that unless he told someone about Vegeta, she was leaving. She had said that she no longer felt safe around him, and that although she worried about him nonstop, she had to think of her own safety. He didn't do anything, of course, and so she left. Yamcha didn't know where she went exactly, but he figured it was somewhere along the lines of Master Roshi's. She always went there when she needed a break. She was too protective towards Yamcha to leave him completely. Or so he hoped.

Around the third day of laying in his own filth, he figured he should get up, take a shower, and get changed. He struggled upright and lumbered into the bathroom, kicking off the dirty pajama pants that hung around his ankles. He turned on the water and listened to it patter down softly before the full realization of what happened three days ago sunk in. His eyes widened and he stumbled back.

"Oh shit." he uttered shakily.

He needed to wash away the filth. He needed to cleanse his body of the cum and blood. He needed to wash off Vegeta's musky scent. He bailed into the shower and cranked the knob all the way over to hot. He reached up and grabbed hold of the showerhead, aiming it directly at his body. At first the water was scalding hot, and it seared Yamcha's skin. It reminded him…of the burning pain from Vegeta's aura and for a moment he was tempted to leap out of the way, but he promptly reminded himself it was worth it; he _needed_ to be clean. He scrubbed the soap all over his burning body, and poured almost the entire bottle of shampoo into his hair. He lathered it up, panting heavily. For not only was it impossibly hard to breathe in the shower, but also his heart was pounding so erratically that he needed to take quick, shallow breaths just for his body to keep up. He spun around, the water scorching his face. He quickly rethought that maneuver and turned back around, taking special care to thoroughly clean his backside, not matter how much the soap and water burned seared the wounds as they permeated the tiny cuts and rips on the inner walls. By the time he ran out of hot water, two hours later, he simply stood in the shower to let the freezing water cool him off and soothe his burns. He dragged himself out after only a few seconds, as it was hurting more than helping. It seemed that every drop aggravated the burns as they struck his tortured skin.

When he finally stepped out, every square inch of his skin was a vivid scarlet shade and pretty much cover with heat blisters and burns. But he felt clean now...so clean. He shook a small bottle of powder on his body and smiled weakly at his burned reflection. He stumbled into his bedroom, pulling on a loose pair of sweatpants as he curled up on top of the covers, feeling as though his body temperature was hot enough to melt steel. He lay on his bed of pain, groaning as the familiar feelings of depression and shock began to worm their way back into his mind. He swallowed hard and began to sob, tears forming and dripping down his face. Fear raged through his mind. If Vegeta decided to show up tonight...the beating, or dare he think worse, would hurt more than anything; what with his burned and wounded body. As it was, he had to sleep on his stomach. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the pillow, hoping that when he woke up, this would all have turned out to be a dream. He prayed to Kami-sama that when he woke up, he would still be with Bulma, and that none this had or would happen; that it would all have been just a garish nightmare...


	2. Onegai

(A/N: Yep, I can't believe I'm posting this thing at 2am. This is how much I love you all. As I said before, I am seriosuly considering revamping a few parts. I have so much more knowledge on the subjects of rape and it's psychological effects, pregnancy, and sex in general (none from expirience; most of it from psychocolgy class and a few gay friends), and I feel some parts are inaccurate. So bear with me while I fix those things. Also, my writin style has certainly changed and improved. Will I rewrite everything? No. Hell no. Just the parts that bug me/need work. So i guess you can gve me tips, but nothing harsh. like I said-- this work is dated by a few years XD Anyways, disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or the characters. Now read on!)

_Four Months Later_

Yamcha squatted by the toilet, his head hung over the bowl as he puked his guts out for the third time that day. His sides ached and begged for a reprieve, but his stomach didn't want to agree. All he had was dry heaves now, but his stomach continued to spasm out of spite. He shivered; retching and wheezing until he finally vomited a long strand of acrid bile that made dark bubbles burst in front his eyes. He slammed down the toilet seat, resting his head on the lid as he flushed the toilet. He stood up shakily and limped over to the sink, splashing water on his face as he rinsed out of his mouth. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to clear the spots the danced and swam in front of his vision. Once the dots faded away, Yamcha raised his head up, catching sight of his ghastly reflection in the mirror. The dark rings that lay settled under his eyes stood out brazenly against his pallid skin, the pale light casting odd shadows across his concave cheeks.

It had been pretty much the same deal day in day out. He'd get up, puke his guts out, and then lie back down while he wallowed in self-pity. He didn't really leave the house much now, and this was causing people were to worry about him. Goku, Kuririn, and hell; even _Bulma_ had been by to see if he was really okay. They hung out with him for a day or two, after which they would make up some excuse and depart, leaving him alone again. He wished they would at least be straight up with him and tell them that they were sick and tired of him rather than making up some petty story to get away. But he supposed it was all his fault they left anyway. He was unbearable to be around; he wasn't afraid to acknowledge it. He would be all fine one moment, then snappy and indignant the next. Then, after he had calmed down, he would be curled up in a ball sobbing for no apparent reason. He was a few organs away from being a woman, for Kami-Sama's sakes! It was his personality that repelled people.

Aside from his emotional roller coaster, it was hell just trying to keep food down. But he had to attribute some of his sickness to his diet. He had been eating an awful lot of pancake batter and cookie dough. He was only feeding his cravings. He would have some Sake too, but he didn't feel like it for some reason. Drinking usually was a temporary solution to his problems but now, for some odd reason, even the mere thought of the alcohol made him want to barf. For that reason Yamcha didn't dare eat too much; only enough to sustain him so he wouldn't be constantly sick. His cheeks were beginning to hollow, and his lack of nourishment was starting to show; he certainly was thinner. But to counter his weight loss, he did sit-ups and push-ups to keep up his muscles and to keep his mind off the 'root problem'. _Fear_; fear, and stress.

It was the paranoia that was making him sick, he figured. He was so tired and terrified of Vegeta's upcoming visit that he was beginning to break down both emotionally and physically. Vegeta hadn't shown up once since his visit about four months ago, which was a pretty bad sign. Yamcha knew from experience that when Vegeta _did_ decide to show up, he was in for the beating of his life. He dwelled on it and worried, making up several worst-case scenarios. But he would be willing to take anything Vegeta could throw at him. Anything would be better than being raped again. He had mass panic attacks and night terrors, waking up from horrible dreams in a cold sweat, after which he was not able to fall back asleep. Once or twice during the night he had to change the sheets on his bed; the nightmares were that bad. On top of that, he had come down with a nasty stomach bug about a month ago and it seemed to keep coming back; each time worse than before. He was spent. What he wouldn't give for even just one peaceful night's sleep.

He stumbled back into his bedroom and collapsed on the bed, his bloodshot eyes wide open. He wanted so badly to fall asleep; to just doze off, even if only for a moment. But he couldn't. The moment he even closed his eyes, he saw the nightmares; the horrible, horrible dreams. He shivered, his stomach growling. _Of course it wants food; I just puked my guts out_, he thought. But he didn't dare eat too much, lest he end up like he was just five minutes ago. But cooking and eating would keep him up, thus preventing sleep and keeping away the nightmares. He swung his legs around off the bed, standing up and stumbling off down the hall and across the living room. He went into the kitchen and rummaged around, pulling out a container of instant ramen. He popped it in the microwave and sat down at the table, fidgeting from side to side. He just felt so damn restless. He heaved a sigh and dropped down to the floor, propping his legs up on the chair with his knees bent. He kept his back flat against the floor and then slowly lifted up, bringing his chin up to his knees in a small sit up, although it was a bit challenging as he had developed a bit of a paunch. His utter lack of energy didn't help much either. But it seemed odd to him that no matter how little he ate and how many sit-ups he did, his belly continued to grow in size. Again, it might just be a product of his diet of cookie dough, pancake batter, ramen, and the occasional tub of ice cream but with all the running to the bathroom and such, it should at least be decreasing slightly...

He grunted, forcing another sit-up out of his tired body just as the microwave beeped to signal his ramen was done. He rolled backwards and sprung to his feet in an ukemi. It wasn't quite as graceful as he would have liked, though. He flipped up and stumbled back a few steps, flailing his arms to regain balance as he pushed his body forward rather ungainly, and finally over to the microwave. He opened up the microwave with a shaky hand and fished out his ramen. He dug out a fork from the drawer and broke into the container, chowing down on his noodles. He finished the small container of noodles in less than five minutes, regretting it the moment he was done. He suddenly felt very, _very_ sick. It wasn't his fault his damn stomach chose to reject everything he gave it. He threw away the container and as he was bent over the trashcan, felt lunch, or dinner really, coming back up. He retched heavily, the ramen following its container. He dropped to his knees, wheezing. He took a shaky breath and stood up, removing the trash bag. He cursed to himself as he stumbled through the kitchen. What time was it? Night? Day? He pushed open the front door, his eyes greeted by the bleak darkness and crisp wind. Night.

He sighed, forcing himself forward once again, taking the bag out to the dumpster on the curb. He groaned, feeling a second wave of ramen coming up. He leaned his head over the dumpster and puked into it until all he had was the same stubborn dry heaves he had just about fifteen minutes ago. He slumped down, leaning his back against the dumpster. He just wanted to die. He was so sick, so paranoid, so scared. He was depressed too, he always had been. But now he was being crushed. Everything was just too overwhelming. He cried, openly sobbing to himself and whatever night creatures were about. He forced himself up, drying his tears with the back of his pajama sleeve. He was so lost, so depressed and so confused that he did the only thing he could do; he went inside, pulled a tub of chocolate-chip cookie dough out of the freezer and curled up on the couch, numbly watching TV. He knew he was going to regret forcing down the entire gallon of ice cream come tomorrow morning, but for now, it was worth it.

He woke up next morning feeling surprisingly fine. But the minute his feet connected with the ground, he felt the full effects of last night's snack. He took off running to the bathroom, his hand clamped over his mouth. He kicked open the bathroom door and kneeled down by the toilet, hurling forcefully into the bowl, getting a bit of back-spatter on his face. He shivered, flopping back against the cool linoleum floor. He stood up and ceremoniously washed off his face and while he was at it, got a long drink of water from the tap. He was snapped from his daze by the shrill ring of the phone. He tottered down the hall, picking up the phone in the living room by it's third ring.

"Hello?" he uttered, still feeling semi-sick and tired.

"Hey. I'm having a bit of a get-together. I want you here."

It could only be one person. Who had get-togethers every once and awhile? Who had such a controlling demeanor? Bulma. He sighed heavily into the receiver.

"Yeah, okay." he said.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, suddenly sounding concerned. "I won't force you to come."

"Nah, I'm okay, I guess. I've just had a nasty stomach bug. I feel loads better. You'll see." he said, sounding forcibly happy.

He more or less trying to convince himself he was fine, and that everything would be okay. Even if he knew that was just a lie.

"Okay...just hurry over." she said, sounding slightly unnerved.

"Okay. Be there in a few." he said weakly.

He hung up the phone shakily and slumped down on the couch. He took a deep breath and stood up again, heading off to his room. He pulled off his pajamas, which reeked of stale vomit. He pulled on a pair of shorts and a white undershirt, tugging at it as he tried to pull it down over his belly. _Gotta lay off the ice cream and start working out more..._, he thought to himself as he pulled on his slacks. He sucked in his gut as much as he could and buttoned it, pulling on a pair of socks next. He stalked down the hallway, taking long strides. He went into the kitchen taking his jacket off the back of a chair and pulling it on, grabbing his shoes and yanking them on right before he went out the door. He thought at first of taking his car, but then remembered his ever-growing gut and decided against it. He ran his fingers through his slightly messy hair and did a quick finger-comb. He broke into a jog, keeping his steady pace for the couple blocks he had to trek to get to Bulma's. He felt a little queasy when he stopped, but shook it off as he entered Capsule Corp. The bright lights and loud noises instantly gave him a headache, but like the nausea, he pushed it away. Everyone seemed to be at the party. Yamcha scuttled away from the crowds and his off in a corner so he wouldn't be bothered, but apparently, people just wanted nothing more than to harass him today. Tien walked over and leaned against the wall next to Yamcha. He gave him a light pat on the stomach.

"You're really letting yourself, go, huh?" he smirked.

Yamcha put on a fake grin and swiveled his head to face the triclops.

"Yeah, I know." he said weakly, still too tired and sick to make a proper smart-ass remark. He sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the swirling strobe lights and loud music. Tien put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked.

Yamcha opened his eyes and smiled weakly again.

"Uh-huh. I've just been sick for a while. I should be okay now that I have a goal to keep me motivated." he explained. Tien arched an eyebrow and Yamcha put a hand over his pudgy stomach. "I gotta work this off. Funny thing is that no matter how hard I try, it just gets bigger."

Tien shrugged. "A little exercise and it should go away. Work a little harder, slacker." he laughed, clapping Yamcha on the back before smirking and heading back into the throng of the party.

Yamcha laughed weakly as Tien walked off, waving his hand limply at his three-eyed friend. Kuririn was the next to approach him.

"Hey, you alright? You still look pretty terrible." he commented.

"Oh gee, thanks." Yamcha muttered.

"Well, if it's any consolation, you look better than you did last time I saw you." Kuririn hastily recovered.

"Yeah, well, I feel a lot better." he smiled weakly.

Kuririn nodded slightly and shuffled off, seeming contented. He was slightly better at taking hints about when people wanted to be left alone. Yamcha sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it shakily. He glanced around the dimly lit room and spotted Bulma. He suddenly felt a warm throbbing feeling and shifted slightly. He suddenly _wanted_ her. And _badly_. She disappeared off into the kitchen and naturally, he followed. She was turned around, fixing something by the sink, seemingly absorbed in whatever she was doing. Yamcha went up to he and grabbed her ass. She went rigid and spun around, smacking across the face.

"_Hentai!_" she screeched.

Yamcha stumbled backwards a bit, and then began to smile. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her close to him, or at least as close as his gut would allow. He leaned in slowly, pressing his own lips to hers. She put her arms around him, not fighting the kiss. Until he used tongues. That was when she kicked him in the crotch. And none too gently. He pulled away, looking hurt.

"What the hell?" she screamed, smacking him again. Yamcha rubbed the side of his face and looked at Bulma pleadingly.

"Please...Bulma...don't do this to me. I don't just want you this time, I _need_ you." he groaned, pressing up against her. "Oh, Kami, I need someone. Please...I am just so horny. C'mon...I even got a nice hard on for you." he whispered seductively. Bulma pushed him away.

"Oh, for crying out loud! You _have_ a hand, you know."

"But...Bulma...this isn't like my normal cravings! It isn't just a petty want; it's an actual need! It can't be solved by simple masturbation, these feelings! Trust me, I've tried. I physically need you! Kami, kami, kami! I need you!" he said, pressing and rubbing his body against hers, running his fingers through her hair. "This isn't the first time this has happened. Please...just this once...ease my suffering. It'll help me get through." he pleaded, burying his face in her hair. Bulma pushed him away.

"Not a chance. Period. Never." she said firmly.

"But...It's only this once...please, baby..."

"No." she said. She said it in a cold voice, one that promised a horrible punishment if he dared to persist.

"Fine." he muttered, sulking away.

Now he was very horny, and needed something to satisfy him. He walked back out into the party, still considerably hard. He hopped from foot to foot, trying to calm down. He heaved a big sigh, hoping his rotund gut would draw attention away from his boner. He looked around the party for possible options. He smirked as he spied Chichi. He shrugged and was about to saunter over, but it was just then that Goku walked over to her and began talking. He was a generally gentle saiyajin, but Yamcha figured he should leave Chichi out of his lusting, lest Goku become a not-so-gentle saiyajin. He scuffed his toe into the ground and swiveled around, catching sight of Videl. He arched his eyebrows for a moment and then saw Gohan not to far, standing at the punch bowl. He was just a kid, but that 'kid' could kick Yamcha's sorry ass if he wanted to. However, not to far away was 18. Sexy? Check. Possible? If he worked hard enough. Non-imposing mate? Sorta. He figured he could take on Kuririn if he had to. He swaggered over to 18 and smiled at her, putting on a sexy air.

"Hey, how about you and me..." He winked. "...you know. Let's go have some fun." he finished.

She arched her eyebrow and snickered, nearly choking on her drink. She looked at him and then took on a solemn, air. "Oh kami, you were _serious_." she said. She was blank for a moment before breaking into hysterics, as she stumbled away, doubled over in silent laughter. Yamcha whimpered, chasing after her.

"Why not? It'll be great! I bet you ten to one it'll be the best you've ever had." he begged desperately, trying to keep his seductive lure. 18 just rolled her eyes and laughed quaintly, her back still turned.

"Oh, come on! Please. Kami, I am so horny right now! I'm only asking for an hour of your time... Not even that! I just--"

"Okay, it was cute the first time, and maybe I even got a laugh out of it the second time. But it isn't funny anymore; it's just annoying. Go away and don't bug me or you will live to regret it..." she growled, cutting him off.

Yamcha cast her a piteous glance and sighed heavily, sulking off. He let his mind wander as he stared down at the ground, his hands thrust in his pockets. Everyone was just so damn happy. They were all laughing, eating, talking and dancing. Not one of them was suffering like he was. He was dragged from his fantasy world when he crashed into a wall of some sorts and fell backwards, landing painfully on his tailbone.

"Watch where you're going, earth-scum." came a particularly harsh voice. _Vegeta's voice_. Yamcha looked up timidly, his eyes locking with the Saiyajin no Oji's. _So it wasn't a wall…_ he thought, feeling as though hitting a wall would have been better. Vegeta extended his arm stiffly, and for a moment, Yamcha though Vegeta was going to smack him. Yamcha raised his arms up in front of his face, trembling slightly. Vegeta sighed disgustedly and rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing, _baka_?" he barked. "I'm trying to help you up, you ignorant earth-scum."

Yamcha looked at Vegeta shyly and took the saiyajin's hand. Vegeta yanked him up forcefully, letting go as soon as Yamcha was upwards far enough. Yamcha's momentum kept him going and he would have fallen flat on his face if Vegeta had not stuck out his arm and caught him by the shoulders, righting him. Yamcha looked up sheepishly at Vegeta, but was met with only the saiyajin no Oji's infamous 'what-is-wrong-with-you-you-sad-excuse-for-a-human-being-why-have-I-not-killed-you-yet?' glare.

Yamcha quailed as he stared at Vegeta, his body trembling slightly.

"What is wrong with you, you stupid human? Are your motor skills so poor that you cannot even managed to stand? Or is comprehending that too far out of your pitiful knowledge?" he sneered.

"I...I've just been...feeling...sick lately..." he stammered, trailing off.

He looked into Vegeta's eyes. Those eyes… they seemed so stormy, so deep, so lustrous. And he smelled nice too, sort of spicy and pungent with a slight tinge of cologne emanating from him. Yamcha didn't know what he was feeling right now, but he wasn't afraid or uneasy like usual. He felt suddenly relaxed, despite the fact that Vegeta's vice-like grip was quite nearly crushing his shoulder. He felt the warm throbbing pick up again, each pump of blood sending a new wave of this strange feeling crashing through his body. Vegeta eyed him warily, letting go of Yamcha's shoulders at once. Yamcha leaned into him, smiling lightly. Vegeta looked down at Yamcha oddly, his eye twitching slightly.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded.

Yamcha just looked up at Vegeta smittenly. He knew what this feeling was now; lust. He wanted sexual activity, and his body was desperate enough to crave Vegeta. inwardly, he was waving the red flags. He knew this was wrong, and truth be told, he was still afraid of Vegeta. But he needed release, and Vegeta would give it to him.

"Onegai..." he pleaded in a whisper, taking hold of Vegeta's shoulders.

"Nani?" Vegeta blinked. "Your scent...is different. You reek of pheromones..."

"Onegai..." Yamcha whimpered. He didn't know what was wrong with him. It was like he wasn't himself, but rather someone else forced to watch, but unable to interact.

"Your scent...not just the pheromones...but your hormonal scent is raging worse then a male child in puberty. But why on earth...?" he uttered, trying in vain to pry Yamcha off from him.

"Onegai...I need release..." he murmured as he buried his face in Vegeta's chest.

Vegeta snapped to reality and leapt away. Yamcha let go suddenly and fell to his knees on the floor. He looked up at Vegeta beseechingly, his lower lip stuck out in a pout as he gave Vegeta the puppy-dog eyes. Vegeta stared at him with disgust.

"What is wrong with you? I always knew you were a faggot, but..." he said, a slight undertone of a growl lurking in his rough voice. He spit at Yamcha in contempt. "You disgust me."

"You had no problem the first time!" Yamcha blurted.

"NANI?"

"Four months ago!" Yamcha yelled. "When you raped me because I stood up for myself!"

Vegeta looked at the group of people milling around at the party. Luckily, they were both so far from anyone, no on had taken notice. Vegeta snapped his head back to Yamcha and snarled.

"That had a purpose! What is this? Lust! Pure. Human. Lust. I will never sink so low as to whore myself off to everything with a vagina and then some. I don't sink that low. Unlike you wretched humans, saiyajins have pride! We have one mate, and if that mate dies, we find a new one. But never, ever,_ ever,_ are our mates of _the same gender_! You humans might sink that low, but we saiyajins..."

"Have pride." Yamcha finished. "I know but...I have nowhere else to go. And… and your scent is different too! Mating season, right?"

"Shut up! You know nothing of us." he said, crossing his arms. "And how would you know about our mating season?"

"It's not just the way you smell. It's the way you act and hold your body. You're feeling enamored too. We can help each other, since you probably won't be getting any from Bulma anyways, what with her feeling all harassed-like."

"Nani? Why?"

"Trust me. I know when you won't be getting any, and you won't be getting any."

Vegeta stomped his foot against the floor so hard it cracked the tiling. "Even so, I would never sink as low as to cohabit with _you_, of all people." he growled. "Why on Vegeta..." he started, launching into a lecture about his home planet.

"Yes, on you!" Yamcha blurted, cutting off Vegeta as he played with the Saiyajin no Oji's words.

"Nani?" he yelped. He relaxed and sighed heavily. "Kami-sama you're persistent." He threw a quick glance to the partygoers and then looked back to Yamcha. "Fine. But let's get this over with quickly."

Yamcha looked up. "You...you mean it?"

Vegeta said nothing but spun around and started to the stairs. Yamcha pushed himself up and looked back to see if anyone was watching. Like usual, everyone was too busy to care, so Yamcha took his cue and ran after Vegeta. The saiyajin was standing outside of a small guest room, his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up at Yamcha and entered the room.

Yamcha's stomach lurched, as he began to have second thoughts. But the throbbing reminded him that he _needed_ this. He shut the door behind him and shyly stepped closer to Vegeta. He shuffled over to the bed and laid down on his back, looking apprehensively at Vegeta.

"Well?" Vegeta said, somewhat annoyed. Yamcha blinked and was a bit puzzled until he realized Vegeta was talking about his pants. They needed to come off. He sighed and unbuttoned his pants, shakily taking the waistband into his hands as he eased them down. "Oh, for the love of..." Vegeta muttered, rolling his eyes.

He grabbed Yamcha's pants and yanked them off, along with his shoes, socks and shorts. Yamcha winced at the sudden cold of the surrounding air. Vegeta seemed to have a sort of talent with stripping people down for sex. Maybe it was a saiyajin thing. Vegeta grabbed Yamcha and flipped him over onto his back, pushing his face into the pillow. He sat back, unbuttoning his own pants and slid them down to his knees. Vegeta sighed and shook his head in astonishment at what he was going to do.

Yamcha whimpered, fear crashing against the inside of his mind. His stomach did flip-flops; if he had anything left in his stomach, if he had eaten anything at the party, rest assured that it would have come up with a vengeance. But luckily his stomach was empty, but that didn't stop the dry heaves and nausea that swept over his system. He gripped at the sheet and began to cry softly, his body quivering something awful. Vegeta began to push into him and Yamcha screamed out of instinct. Vegeta abruptly stopped and let out a disgusted sigh.

"What now? I haven't even done anything." he sighed.

Yamcha bit his lip. "Um...do you think...we might be able to use a little...lubrication, maybe?" he asked miserably.

Vegeta sighed again and leaned over to the side table and grabbed a tin of Vaseline off the top. He rubbed it over his erect member and then threw it over his shoulder.

"_There._ Are you happy _now_?" he asked, his voice thick with irritation. Yamcha couldn't manage any words, but rather let out a small squeak and slowly nodded his head. "Good." Vegeta said sharply.

Yamcha had a feeling that even if he had said no, Vegeta wouldn't have cared. He bit his lip so hard that a small trickle of blood began to roll down his lip. And Vegeta hadn't even started. Vegeta lifted up and then slammed down, pushing into Yamcha rather abruptly. The human screamed out loud, but was roughly cut off as Vegeta shoved him into the pillow.

"You stupid human! Do you want them to hear us?" he hissed. Yamcha uttered a small wheeze and frantically shook his head from side to side.

Vegeta let go and pulled out to the tip, and then forced his way back in. Yamcha let out a muffled cry, tearing a good-sized chunk out of the sheet. Despite all the lubrication, it still scraped and tore at his insides. He squeaked, wincing at the pain. But this was what he wanted; this is what he persisted and begged for. But now...the fear of Vegeta...the horror of what he did in the beginning; it all came roaring back. It was hard to try and feel pleasure when he was so scared. But Yamcha shoved his fear to the back of his mind and forced the pleasure. He needed it. His body craved release. And unless he started to feel the pleasure, he would be miserable all day. He began to thrust his hips upwards to meet Vegeta's pumps. _Through pain comes pleasure...through pain comes pleasure...through pain COMES PLEASURE! I Need PLEASURE, his_ mind screamed. He bit down on his lip, trying hard to ignore the ache. This was starting to feel strangely good...Yamcha hoped this wasn't turning out to be gay or bi. That was his nightmare come true. He shook his head and pushed harder up, grinding against Vegeta.

"I need release!" he yelled. "ONEGAI!"

Suddenly, the pain was no object. He was beyond caring now. He needed release, and Vegeta was going to give it to him. He panted, his pupils shrinking. He could feel warm trickles of blood rolling down over his buttocks, trailing down the underside of his thighs. He felt the fiery pain roar through his system as reality began to fade in. This hurt like a _son of a bitch_... Yamcha felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks; tears of pain. What was he doing? Why had he turned to Vegeta? Kami, he wished he had never suggested this...but he needed release, or he would suffer an incomprehensible purgatory. He had already been sick for last months, and now he was feeling more horny than normal. His life sucked. He bucked his hips up again; wincing at the pain he could now feel in full. He felt pressure building up in his lower half; pressure that made his cramped, stiff member ache for the sweet release. He gripped the sheets tightly and after another thrust from the powerful Oji, screamed loudly as he came. He flopped down tiredly, yawning as he rested his face on the pillow. But something was wrong...Vegeta wasn't stopping. His thrusts were becoming erratic as he gripped at Yamcha's shoulders and pulling him back up, leaving deep crescent-shaped impressions where his nails dug in. Yamcha thrashed beneath the Oji's sweat-slicked body, almost throwing him off. But Vegeta reared up and kneed him in the back, lifting Yamcha up by the hair.

"What's wrong? Don't you want anything anymore? You started this, you begged for this, so _take this like a man_." he hissed. "This is a partnered deal, you get yours and I get mine, remember?"

Yamcha let a sob escape his lips. "But… but it hurts!" he cried.

"Well then, you should have thought of that before hand, eh, earth-scum?" he snapped.

Yamcha winced. Maybe he should have thought this through better. But there was no going back. He just closed his eyes and waited till it ended. He didn't know how long he could hang in. But for some reason, even though the soft tissue in his rear was probably torn to shreds, he was still getting small tinges of pleasure. He buried his face deep into the pillow, moaning out of pain and out of bliss. He was so tired…he wanted to sleep. But he wanted more of this pleasure, even though he had already climaxed. Was that so wrong. Yes. Very much so. But he didn't care. Suddenly, wet warmth drenched his insides, white sticky fluid dribbling down his legs and to the bedspread. Vegeta was done. He let every muscle relax as he closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep. But Vegeta hauled him roughly up, throwing him to his knees on the floor.

"Get dressed, baka. You can't sleep now. Don't you think that they would think it was weird if you didn't show back up at the party? Of course they would. Use what precious few brain cells you have!" he explained roughly as he pulled his own pants back up.

Yamcha pulled on his shorts and pants, looking timidly at Vegeta. The Oji was a scary man when he got angry. And making him angry was the last thing on his mind. He stood up shakily, the familiar ache once again searing his rear. He was in pain, but the horny urge had gone away. For now. He filed this in the back of his mind as the _stupidest_ thing he had ever done. He would never, ever, _ever_ do this again; no matter how horny he ever got. But why did he do this in the first place? Did it exceed need for release? Was he actually having feelings for Vegeta? He hoped not. Bad enough he was ass-raped by the saiyajin, he didn't need to that to turn into a 'first time' between a couple. He righted his clothes, preparing himself for return to the party. He pulled on his socks and slipped on his shoes, standing up slowly, trying to ignore the sharp pains that agonized his rump. He sorely limped downstairs, the Oji following silently behind him. He had to admit, it was sort of unsettling to have Vegeta walking behind him. He crept down the stairs and entered the party atmosphere unnoticed. Vegeta grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back.

"Now, you say nothing of what happened today or 'that night,' do you understand me, human?" he whispered, his hot breath tickling Yamcha's ear.

"H-hai." Yamcha choked.

"Good." Vegeta said. "Now get out of my sight."

Yamcha took haste, limping away.


	3. Voices

(A/N: You know, usually I find people who interject random japanese words into the story annoying-- why not write the story in one language? People don't speak half english half japanese, so why write it? But I realize it's kinda neta and gives it character at times. I guess I'm on the fence there. I'm kinda hyprocritical in that sense too, because I tend to do that. So whatever. I guess I don't really care. If it's your style, go for it. Hooray for having epiphanies at 3am So this is the last chapter I have. i'll start working ona fourth, but first I want to fix a few things in the first three. Maybe. I dunno what i'll end up doing. But I'll let y'all know. As said before, comments are loved!)

The minute Vegeta had released Yamcha's shoulder, he scuttled away and hid off in a corner. Now more than ever did he want nothing more then to just be left alone. He felt sick all of a sudden, his stomach churning as the contents sloshed around inside of him. A bitter taste welled up in his throat, and at once he knew he was going to hurl. He barreled off to the bathroom, ignoring the pain he felt in his ass that spiked every time he took a step. He shoved open the door to the restroom, slamming it shut behind him. He dropped to his knees and leaned over the bowl, his body shaking with dry heaves; he had nothing in his stomach but acidic bile. But that too came up in turn. It burned his throat and tongue; dripping from his mouth in long, thick strands. He shivered, the sick feeling refusing to leave him be. He sobbed, curling up on the cool floor. It was so comfortable and cool on the tiled floor, but he knew he couldn't just lie there all day. He sat up, grabbing onto the edge of the sink to help pull his weight up. He really didn't want to go back out to the party, better yet he just wanted to go home and sleep. But if anyone caught him leaving early, it would arouse suspicion among them. And if they ever found out about him and Vegeta... Kami-sama, he didn't even want to think about it. _Just tough it out, you'll be okay. Just drag yourself through the rest of the party and then you can go home and sleep all you want, _he thought to himself. He put a hand on the tap and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face before glancing back up at his disheveled reflection. _Yes, you can sleep...until Vegeta decides to show up,_ the other part of his mind retaliated.

"He won't showHe hasn't for months and chances are he probably won't anymore." he muttered to his reflection.

_Haha...you just keep telling yourself that. But you know he won't be getting any from Bulma, so where else can he turn? He knows you're a quick and easy lay. He knows you'll submit to his wants without argument; and if you don't, he knows he can beat you senseless until you do. Face it, you're trapped._

"I'll tell someone."

_Who?_

"I dunno...Bulma, I guess."

_Have you forgotten what he said? You know what he's capable of; he could kill you in an instant._

"Yeah, but he wouldn't."

_No, it would be more than an instant. He would draw it out; make you hurt and suffer as much as he could before you died. And plus, would you really want to tell someone? Most people don't react to nicely to the topic of rape. What will you say? 'Oh, hey Vegeta's been ass-raping me. Could you ask him to stop, please?' Ha. And really, would anyone believe you? They'll pass it off as a desperate ploy for attention. Or some sort of sick joke. But who could blame them? Why would they believe that Vegeta likes to fuck other men? And coming from you, someone who hates Vegeta and wants nothing more than to see him fall? Yeah, good luck with that one buddy._

"They'll have to believe me, I'll make them believe."

_How?_

"I just will."

_No you won't. You can't. Look, keep your mouth shut about this. Announcing your rape isn't something that is smiled upon. _

"Yeah, I suppose so...you're right. I just want to, but...but..."

_You're scared? Humiliated?_

"Both. Maybe...it'll just go away if I leave it alone_."_

_Great idea; the best I've heard from you all night. Now, get your sore ass back out to the party and socialize. Make yourself seem less obvious._

"Right, right. Talk." he sighed. "Be social. Inconspicuous. Got it."

He slowly open up the door, first sticking his head out and casting a furtive glance to make sure no one was watching. Which they weren't. He crept along slowly and sat down with his back against a tree in the atrium. He winced slightly as his weight applied pressure to his bottom; after all the standing he did, he had almost forgotten what a roar of pain could come from such a dull throbbing. He shifted slightly, leaning his weight more on his lower back. It was uncomfortable and still kind of painful, but it was better than how he was sitting before. He closed his eyes, trying to once again block out the loud music and bright flashing lights of the party. He heard a soft whisper of the blades of grass shifting as someone approached where he sat. _Oh, not again,_ he thought. He didn't want to talk, but he knew that evasion equaled suspicion, and that was never a good thing. So as he heard the person settling down beside him, he slowly opened his eyes. It was Tien. Again. He sighed and forced a smile to the surface as he turned slightly to face the triclops. He didn't even have a chance to greet him when Tien spoke out.

"Not to sociable, are we?" he asked. "It's not like you; you're usually palling around with everyone and hitting on the women."

"Like you're any better." he snapped. "I don't see _you_ socializing."

Tien laughed. "I try to but...it seems that when you are away from people so long, it gets harder and harder to find a common interest; you know, something to talk about. I've just been out of the loop too long."

"You're having no problems with rattling away to me."

Tien laughed. "I suppose it's because you know what I mean."

Yamcha shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Did Kuririn send you over to pump info out of me?"

"Oh no, he did talk to me; that I will admit. But I came over here on my own. So what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just...tired. And sick. This flu is sucking the life out of me. All I ever do is get up and puke every morning, eat something to sustain me, and then puke that back up. So then I give up eating so much to see if it helps, but no. Dry heaves and bile. Yay. Fun. And you all wonder why I look so crappy."

Tien nodded in response and acknowledgment and then smirked playfully. "God, the way you complain and lament, you sound like a pregnant single mother! It's actually quite amusing."

Yamcha allow a slight smile to grace his lips. "You're such an ass."

"I know." he retorted.

They sat in silence afterwards for a while before Kuririn came over. Yamcha's smiled dropped immediately and he groaned unhappily.

"Oh crap. This is a conspiracy to lecture and bug me so I can't enjoy a moment alone, isn't it?"

Kuririn blinked. "Hey, who said that?

Yamcha looked at him. "I did."

Kuririn looked down. "Sorry. It just...something's up with you."

Yamcha took a deep breath and expelled it testily. "This flu has got me off-kilter, okay?" All the amusement he had earlier had vanished at the prolonged harassment he was suffering.

"Geeze, no need to flip out. If you were feeling sick, then why didn't you stay at home? I'm sure Bulma wouldn't mind if you stayed home this once."

"Yeah, she said something about that when she called me up, demanding my presence. But you know, if I _did_ stay home, I would never hear the end of it. She would nag me for _weeks_ on end saying 'Well, that's not what I actually meant.' She's just vague like that."

Kuririn sighed. "You have a point."

Again, silence.

"Look, if you want to go home, me and Kuririn will go and talk to Bulma; you know, keep her off you case." Tien suggested.

"Yeah, yeah. Just go home and sleep it off; you do look awfully pale." Kuririn agreed.

Yamcha sighed heavily. _Oh thank god; a break. Just go home. Home. Sleep. get what rest you can,_ he told himself. He nodded slowly in agreement as both of his friends got up and started off. He agonizingly pushed himself up, a bolt of pain causing his knees to go weak. He reached back and grabbed onto the trunk of the tree for support, easing himself up to his feet. He limped away, trying to get by everyone unnoticed. He got the odd 'goodbye' as he snuck out the door, giving no more than a feeble wave and a wan smile as parting sentiments.

He jogged the way home again, ignoring the piercing pain and dry heaves that almost made his knees give out three times during the jaunt back. Once he got past his front door, he promptly collapsed on the kitchen floor. He lay there unmoving for a moment before he pushed himself up tiredly and limped off to the bathroom; once again, he needed to be clean. It was like this the last time too. It was like this horrible feeling that he was tainted, like he needed to cleanse himself. He hoped he wasn't becoming obsessive-compulsive; that would just be the icing on the cake. He stripped off his clothes and as he pulled off his pants and set them folded across the hamper-top, he noticed that there was a bloody patch across the bottom. He winced and swallowed hard. He sure as hell hoped no one had noticed _that. _He shook his head with a groan andturned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm up. It wasn't burning hot like the last time so many months ago, but it was hot enough to send tendrils of steam wafting up over the curtain.

He stepped inside, soaping up his body and cleansing himself up the blood, sweat, and whatever else happened to be caked onto his skin. He grabbed the shampoo bottle and squeezed a blob of the liquid into the palm of his hand, working it through his hair. He let the water rinse it out, soapy trail rolling down his back. He lingered a bit longer before turning the water off and stepping out. He grabbed a towel out the cabinet mounted on the wall, drying his body off as he exited the bathroom. He dropped his towel by his bedroom door and strode to his dresser, pulling out a loose pair of pajama pants and sliding them over his lower half. He tossed a white cotton tee-shirt over his upper half, flopping down onto his stomach on his back. A protesting grumble from his stomach forced him back up and into the bathroom. He threw open the medicine cabinet, hunting for something to soothe his stomach. He rifled past boxes of Band-Aids and bottles of cough syrup before his fingers grazed the edge of a worn box. He pulled it out, his eyes scanning the label; it was a packet of old pregnancy test he had kept around for 'insurance'. Back when he had nightly 'company', that is. That, however, was quite a while ago but he never _had_ thrown the old things out. He smirked wanly at the memories of frantic prayers to Kami-Sama as he waited in turmoil sitting on the edge of his bed for his 'lady friend' to deliver the news. He shook his head, tossing the box from hand to hand.

Then, it can't be said _how_ it happened, but a horrid thought struck Yamcha. It came like a bolt of lightening; quick and unexpected. He dropped the packet of tests as horror began to settle into his veins. He slammed the cabinet shut, staring gape-jawed into the mirror. _Pregnancy...now there's a good excuse._ _You got it all buddy; morning sickness, hormonal spikes, moods swings...you have become a glorified slut. _The chiding voice had returned.

"Shit, no. You gotta be kidding me."

_Nope, no kidding here._

"Guys don't get pregnant. It's a scientific fact that they _can't_. I have no egg to make a baby; let alone a womb for it to gestate in. It can't happen."

_Funny that it has; right here, right now_.

"Yeah, but it isn't. What are you? Psychic?"

_No, I'm your innermost thoughts. And that's good enough. And if you aren't preggers, than take a test to prove it. You'll feel better._

"Better...better when it's shows up negative."

_Maybe. But you'll never rest easy until you do._

"Yeah. I'll take the test and get on with feeling stupid afterwards."

He fished a test out of the box, turning the packet over to read the directions on _how_ to use one. After several minutes of cringing at the thoughts, performing the act, and then waiting for the results, he picked up the test he had set on the side of the sink. He peered down at the windows that proudly displayed two linesHe read the back of the test's box, trying to decipher the meaning of the lines. His dark eyes widened and the test fell from his limp hands as the results registered; positive. He frantically re-read the instructions and glanced back down, his worst fears confirmed.

"No, no, no...it just isn't physically possible. Never can something like this happen. It...was a fluke. Just a fluke. That's all; a fluke. Yeah, yeah, I'll take another to make sure."

And he did; but the results were the exact same for the second one he took, as well as the third and fourth and fifth test, all the way up to last one in the box. He shook his head frantically from side to side. This wasn't happening to him. It couldn't... But he had taken an entire box of tests, and each had showed positive.

"Maybe, maybe it's because I'm a guy and the results are affected by gender..." he murmured to himself.

_No, you know that can't be right; the tests detect a hormone only found in the urine of pregnant individuals._

"How enlightening."

_But of course._

"Look, will you just shut up? Maybe it was a defective package. They _are_ pretty old, you know. Maybe they just don't work."

_It's a possibility. But are you actually going to go out to the store and buy a new package?_

"Maybe I will."

_Okay then, by all means go ahead._

"Fine."

He bolted out of the bathroom and towards the door, pulling on his shoes and jacket, running out the front door and down the street to the drug store. He bounded up and down the aisles in search of the tests, ignoring the utter blinding pain he was in. It seemed he had, as of late, become a master at ignoring his pain until after he had stopped moving around like an idiot. Then, he was struck with unbridled agony.

He smacked himself inwardly when he finally found them in the aisle with all the birth control products, taking only a second to grab a box of the new digital readout tests. _Well duh, of course they would be in this aisle..._ He bolted to the checkout counter, suddenly aware he was only wearing his jacket over his pajamas. He tapped his foot impatiently as the clerk, a young blonde girl with what seemed like copious amounts of bracelets looped around her wrists, rung up the total.

"Trying?" the cashier asked sweetly.

Yamcha nodded slightly, trying to avoid her eyes and better cloak the red-hot blush that stained his cheeks as he looked down at the floor.

"Well, good luck." she smirked.

Yamcha glanced at the checkout display screen, fishing the money out of his jacket pocket and slamming it down on the counter before bolting off, muttering a small, emotionless 'thank-you' as he headed back home.

His heart basically leapt into his throat as he paced around his bedroom, waiting for the results. According to the back of the box, these test were foolproof and easy to understand. They gave a digital readout in the display screen that said either 'pregnant' or 'not pregnant'. He kept bouncing from foot to foot nervously as he waited for the test to register. He looked over at his digital alarm clock (digital things, it seemed, were so much easier to understand) and noted the time, 10:17pm; five minutes since he took the test. He groaned and trudged down the hall to the bathroom; he had been too anxious to be in the same room as the test. He hoped against hope that the first box of tests had just been defective, that they were too old to work. He closed his eyes and groped around the sink for the test, closing his fingers once he felt the smooth plastic. He lifted it up and opened his eyes slowly, peering at the display bar. It was a simple reading; the letters said it all: _pregnant_. Yamcha let his grip crush the test, dropping the shattered remains in the trashcan. A rabid rage and apprehension filled his veins, jumping his heart beat up to three times it's normal rate as a heavy blanket of dread settled over his body. He grabbed for the packet, doing the same thing he did with the other box; test himself with every single one. It took him nearly an entire half hour, but he got no response to his liking; every single one read 'pregnant'. He slammed his hands, palms down, against the sink, screaming in protest.

"No! It isn't possible! It isn't! No, oh Kami-sama, no, no, no!" he yelled, panting hard. His stomach leapt up into his throat and more than once he had to swallow back bile.

_See? What did I tell you? Knocked up._

"But how...?"

_I dunno, really. Sometimes things just happen._

"Oh god...why...I can't..."

_Well, you can always get rid of it. Kill it. It isn't that hard to destroy a baby at such an early state._

Yamcha's heart surged, his mouth going dry. He _could_ kill it, very easily too and with little chance of actually hurting himself. But for some reason, for some odd incentive, he couldn't. The thought of being rid of his little 'problem' was tempting, and oh-so-close, but he just couldn't. He felt like it would be going against all of his morals; it was the wrong thing to do. He had gotten himself into this, and now he had to see it through. No more taking the coward's way out of things; it was time to bite the bullet and own up to his actions. He sighed heavily and walked slowly back to his bedroom, each of his footsteps falling heavily against the floor. He approached his bed and dropped limply on his stomach into the center of the mattress, moaning slightly to himself. It would be hard to do the 'right thing', but he just couldn't back down, no matter how much he wanted to give up.

"I just can't..."

_Why not? So what, you screwed up and made a mistake. Now you can fix your mistake once and for all. _

"I won't. Never could I take a life..."

_Well, it's not really a life; it hasn't been born._

"Yeah, but just because it isn't on the outside doesn't mean it isn't alive. And it's just a baby and everything has the right to live..."

_Yeah, but it's your body. Therefore, it is your choice._

"And I choose to stick it out."

_You're being stupid. You know you want to get rid of it. And when have you had such a strong philosophy on life? When have you been so deep?_

"Since now, and that's really all that matters. Go away, you're driving me crazy."

_You're having a conversation with the 'voices' in your head. You're already nuts._

"Shut up."

_Whatever. Fine. But don't come whining to me when you can't stand the stress._

Yamcha rolled from his stomach onto his side, utter pain and mental stress robbing him of sleep. He was going nuts; he was hearing voices, and yeah, actually talking to them. _It's not voices,_ he told himself, _It's your innermost thoughts,_ he decided. _But still, having actual conversations with yourself... talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity and denial is the second._

For the first time in days, Yamcha allowed himself a smile at his own teasing joke. He knew that once reality made its presence know, he would be robbed of all happiness. It seemed to work in a cycle that way; he cheer up, becoming amused or elated at a joke or something only to be brought crashing down again. But when he was at his high points, even if they were only a temporary fix, it was when his life was worth living. It was a pity there were so few high points and that the downward spirals outweighed his joy. But now he had a reason to hang on; he had a baby.


	4. The Calm Before the Storm

A/N: Finally, an update! Pity this is the WORST CHAPTER EVER. Auuugh. This chapter is mostly filler and recap...with very little new stuff. I hate the inconsistancies, and no matter how many times I re-wrote this, it still sucked. But take heart in the fact the _next_ chapter shouldn't be so delayed and will involve a confrontation with Vegeta and skip ahead to 8 months later. GASP. But for now, you get this crap while I try to fix the story and get back into the groove of writing. As always, I do NOT own DBZ or the characters; that belongs to Akira Toriyama. Pity; this would make a bitchin' plot arc. or not. I dunno. I'm too tired.

_Calm Before the Storm_

Yamcha stirred slightly, the blare of his alarm jerking him from the first restful sleep he had in months. _It figures,_ he thought groggily. He groaned and slapped at the snooze button, silencing the alarm and rolling over again. In his sleepy mind, he was aware that something was wrong and that he had been upset about something or another, but he couldn't recall just yet. _Ah, the blissful first few seconds of being awake before I realize why my life sucks so bad. _He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, memories of what had happened thus far slowing falling into place as he became more awake. The brief happiness he had experienced last night, the self satisfaction he had before drifting off, it had all become crushed under the weight of reality. He hated that; unfortunately, that sort of thing seemed to happen to him quite often. _Par for the course_, he told himself over and over again. _It's just par for the fucking course._ He groaned unhappily, slinging an arm over his face. What was he going to do now? He had no idea how to manage himself normally, let alone while he was carrying a baby (that idea still seemed a little more than messed up in his mind too). And what of birth? Kami, he didn't even want to think about _that_. Reality was indeed a cruel mistress, he found.

Maybe...maybe he could ask Vegeta for help; see if the Saiyajin knew what to do. But he quickly discarded _that_ idea. He doubted Vegeta would even believe him, and even if he did...how would he react? _We're talking about the guy that is always shooting sharp comments at you, making fun of you whenever he can, **the guy who habitually beat you up for months on end**. What if he did believe you? Do you think it would be better? That he'd give you helpful hints? Like that would ever happen._ He shivered a bit and let his hands slid over his stomach protectively. Maybe Vegeta didn't need to know. Like, ever. He knew though, in the back of his mind, he couldn't possibly hide it from the Saiyajin no Oji forever, though for the time being he blissfully ignored that fact.

He finally figured after a little more reflection, he should at least make a to-do list of goal and things, well, _to do_ in the near future at least. First thing- get up out of bed. Second thing- think of more things to do. He slid his hands off his stomach and planted them on each side of his body, pushing himself up into a sitting position. For some reason, he felt like his body was made of lead. Oh, he was _not_ a morning person. At least he didn't feel like puking his guts out for once. He felt a little queasy, yes, but not 'sick-to-his-stomach', which was quite frankly a welcome change. He spun himself around and stood up, stretching tall with a yawn. He then looked down as his stomach which, upon closer inspection, wasn't _quite_ as swollen as he had previously thought. It had come out in a small paunch, but it wasn't domed out too far. It was, in fact, barely noticeable. Maybe he was going crazy; after all, just last night he held conversation with himself. That was certainly _not_ a good sign. Maybe...maybe he was just stressed. He liked to think that was what was wrong, anyways, and he really wasn't too far off.

He toddled out to the kitchen, feeling a little hungry. He almost didn't want to eat, given his recent situation with puking everything up when he ate. But he figured he should at least try something light; after all, he was eating for two now. The trick would be finding something that didn't make him hurl. He counted out instant Ramen and ice cream right away-- he knew from recent experience that all those did was make him hurl. He rummaged around through the cupboard for something suitable and settled on some chicken soup. _That's always been the staple for when you have an upset stomach, right? And it's supposed to be pretty healthy as well,_ he decided.

He stuck a bowl in the microwave and sat down at the table while he waited, drumming his fingers rhythmically against the tabletop. He paused and shifted restlessly, resting his chin in his hands while he tried to think of more things for his 'to-do' list. He figured that, since he had no idea how to manage pregnancy, he should go to the bookstore and grab a book on what else?-- pregnancy. Of course, he doubted that they had anything along the lines of 'male pregnancy for dummies.' But still...he wagered he should at least see what they had and get _something_. It was better than going into this blind.

The shrill beep of the microwave pulled him from his trance and he stood up to go retrieve his soup. He fished it out delicately, sitting down at the table to eat. He sipped at his soup, little by little and then placed the empty bowl in the sink. he lumbered off to his room after eating and dug out a pair of clothes. He yarded his pants on, relieved they still fit. They were a little tight, but other than that they still fit without being terribly comfortable. _Thank Kami_, he thought to himself. He knew he wouldn't stay this small forever-- he had seen what happened to Bulma when she had been pregnant with Trunks. The woman had ballooned out to the point it looked like she swallowed a basketball. He was dreading the point where he'd have to pick up and actually _wear_ huge maternity clothes. He didn't fancy the fact of plumping out as some alien baby grew inside his abdominal cavity much either. He groaned, forcing those thoughts away. He was already under enough stress. Then another thought cropped up. Forget about hiding his pregnancy from _Vegeta_, how was he going to hide it from _everyone else_? What would everyone think? What was he going to say? He couldn't just tell them why he was carrying a child, because that would entail telling them about Vegeta...and he really didn't want to do that. But he also knew they wouldn't take 'I dunno' as an answer either. He swallowed deeply, his hands trembling as he pulled on his socks and shoes.He reached up and rubbed his tummy gingerly again, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. _Alright, just chill out. You still have some time to figure something out. They won't really notice anything's different for a few more months, right? Yeah, yeah. You still have some time, _he thought to himself, grabbing his keys off the table. _You still have some time, but not much_.

About an hour later, he returned home from the bookstore with two books. He hurried inside to get out of the biting winter cold-- so fast, it seemed, that the seasons changed! He took off his jacket and exchanged his shoes for slippers before toddling into the living room to go check his new wares. He dumped the books out, tossing the bag off to the side. He stared down at the paperbacks, thinking back to the bookstore. The books hadn't been too terribly expensive; that wasn't what was bothering him. No, it had been the process of sneaking to the Pregnancy and Parenting section while trying to look nonchalant like he wasn't hiding any sort of abomination against nature, all the while looking out for anyone he might know that had been the pain. And then the clerk at the check-out...he remembered how flustered he got when she had smirked and asked 'Expecting?' It had been so reminiscent of his trip to the supermarket just a day ago when the question of the day was 'Trying?' It wasn't quite the same phrase, but his face had turned the same deep shade of red. His reply to this cashier had been no smoother. It had been something along the lines of 'Yes...I mean, not for me...for my ladyfriend' both preceded and followed by nervous peals of laughter. The cashier proceeded to look at him as if he had two heads, while he paid and then darted off.

So much for 'nonchalant.' Yamcha wasn't even sure he fully understood what that word meant ANYWAYS.

The one good thing about his excursion, however, was that at least he didn't bump into anyone he knew. _Thank Kami for small miracles._ he told himself. He knew he was being ridiculously paranoid, but he justified it by thinking _If anyone else was in my situation-- Kami forbid-- they'd do the same._ Of course, he had no basis for that, as he was sure that his situation wasn't normally a happening thing.

He cracked open the thicker of the two books, one with a simple black cover entitled 'The Pregnancy Bible.' He opened the book in the middle...right to the section on birth. He gawped wide eyed at the lovely (not) illustrations the book so kindly displayed. _Cor...that looks...painful_, he thought, a little more than stunned. He slammed the book shut, and set it back on the coffee table. He didn't even want to think about what childbirth was going to be like. There were only two ways out down there, and he didn't quite enjoy the idea of pushing a baby out of either of them. He rubbed his belly habitually; how WAS he even going pop the kid out? He had been avoiding thinking about it, but it had been steadily nagging at him all day. But even without thinking about _where_ the kid was going to come out of, he wondered just _how_ he was going to deal with birthing some alien baby. Normally, people would shamble off to a hospital and then the doctors dictated what to do from there.

It wouldn't be that easy for him.

He couldn't just got to a hospital and be like 'hey, having a baby, do your thing.' He was sure people would think he was insane. And even if there was the off chance they decided to admit him and scan him to see what was up, how would they react to the fact he was a _man_ having a _baby?_ He knew they wouldn't just let him have the baby and then go on. They'd want to know how it happened, and what made him so different. He'd become their guinea pig, and the media...oh Kami, they'd have a field day. It didn't help that he still had a bit of reputation from his baseball days. _Become famous once and even after you fade out of the limelight, people will still know your name. If something shocking happens, you'll suddenly become the talk of the town again. Kami, I can't afford that, _he thought grimly. It wasn't as though he had a reputation to destroy anymore, but he still didn't want to be gawked at as he was some sort of freak. Even if he sort of was.

He slung and arm over his face and groaned. Since when did life become so hard? Vegeta...this was all Vegeta's fault! He balled his hands up into fists. It was Vegeta who took Bulma away! It was Vegeta who never shut up, who always made fun of him. He growled and slammed his fist into the couch. He rolled over and jerked upright, stomping around the living room. It was all Vegeta. Vegeta beat on him, just because he knew Yamcha was too weak in compared to his 'mighty Saiyajin power' to even put up a good fight. He knew he held intimidation over the human. He abused that power. It was Vegeta who...who..._violated_ him that night! Vegeta who put that baby in him. Yamcha growled angrily, hot tears welling up in his eyes. He stomped back to the couch and threw himself over the cushions. He buried his face in the pillow, sobbing miserably. He hated that Saiyajin, he hated the hand fate dealt him, and he hated himself for being so pathetic. He curled up in a ball and lay on the couch for a good fifteen minutes before uncurling and sighing heavily. What was wrong with him? He was so emotional...it disgusted him. He hated sobbing like a woman. _Par for the course_, he thought glumly.

He rolled to his back and grabbed his book off the table, opening it again, this time more cautiously. He opened it to the beginning, skipping through the first few months. He closed his eyes, thinking back to when...the 'incident had occurred'. It had been summer...August, right? It was colder now...December? It had been four months. Four months he had carried this child. _What a Christmas present_, he thought cynically. He read through the section on the fourth month of pregnancy.

"'As you enter the fourth month, you'll start to get a little break. We like to call it the calm before the storm.' Oh lovely, so it will get worse. 'Emotional and hormonal spikes will start to become less common, and you won't be plagued with such frequent morning sickness, though some report still bearing a sensitivity to certain smells and tastes.' Great. At least I won't be hurling every morning, so I suppose every cloud...isn't... a storm cloud... or however that goes." Yamcha closed the book and set it down, resisting the urge to read ahead. _No use in squicking yourself out._ he thought to himself.

He lay on the couch and wrapped his arms around his belly, closing his eyes peacefully as he tried to sneak a nap before reality and stress came around to bother him into insomnia once more. He let out a long breath. Kami, was there ever a long road ahead of him. _I still ain't gonna quit though; I'll walk every inch of this road ahead of me with no regrets._ He knew inwardly he'd have plenty of regrets to deal with, but it never sounded quite as attractive when you admitted your regrets. Yes, that certainly killed the inspiration. And with the ordeal ahead, he'd need all the cheer and inspiration he could get.

SO YEAH. Bad, huh? XD Like I said, the next chapter should be forthcoming at a more rapid pace than this one AND will be more interesting. GASP. R&R as always, but be gentle on me for this chapter ;o; Also...I forget if I left it in, but I think I mentioned two books in this chapter...and I never mentioned the second book or what it was about. if I left that in, it'll come up in other chapters. If I didn't...it'll still show up in other chapters XD Have fun, and don't read bad fics...or something. AND REMEMBER: It's not the fall that kills you, it's the landing!


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